Sleight of Hand
by olehistorian
Summary: Prompted from a Tumblr discussion on which member of your OTP would sneak biscuits to the children behind the other's back.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Prompted from a Tumblr discussion on which member of your OTP would sneak biscuits to the children behind the other's back.

"But Mummy, please." At eight years old, Grace Elspeth Carson is a persistent little thing. A head full of dark, wiry curls, sapphire eyes and high cheekbones like her mother, a dimpled chin from her father, Grace knows when she should not ask again but she cannot help herself. She has inherited a stubborn streak from her mother and from her father an overpowering sweet tooth. And today the cottage smells of warm butter, flour, and sugar. She watches as her mum slowly, agonizingly, takes the delicious shortbread biscuits from a plate, and begins placing them into a tin that will rest high upon a shelf in the cupboard. Grace's eyes follow her every movement. A pitiful expression passes across the little girl's face. It isn't fair. She just wants one more biscuit. One more. "Mummy, just one more, please," she begs.

Elsie dusts her hands across her apron then clasps them in front of her. It is the posture she assumed with insubordinate housemaids when she was housekeeper at the Abbey, before she and Charles married and long before Grace was born. "Grace Carson, I have told you that you may not have another biscuit and that is all. Now run along." Grace does as she is told but not before theatrically giving an overly dramatic shrug of her little shoulders and an expressive pout. Elsie shakes her head and smiles. _A flair for the dramatic_, she thinks to herself. _Just like her father._

"Mmmm," Charles hums as he reaches into the tin for a biscuit before getting a gentle slap across the hand from his wife.

"And no more for you either," she admonishes him. Her husband playfully grabs her round the waist and kisses her fiercely while stealthily reaching behind her back and into the tin to palm two cookies. Easily hidden in his giant paw, he has done this before and each time he thinks that she doesn't notice. Elsie, well aware of what he's done, says nothing and sends him on his way to enjoy settling into his favorite chair next to the warm fire. His days are long at the Abbey and she is glad that he can come home to them, to their cottage, and find respite.

Charles settles into his chair and Grace crawls into his lap. He wraps an arm around her, his big hand, soft and gently patting her leg reassuringly. She leans in resting her head on his shoulder, heaving a weary sigh. This is their pattern. Father and daughter. "What's this?" Charles asks as he places a sweet kiss to her forehead.

"Nothing, Daddy," she lies. Grace knows not to complain about her mother. About being denied another biscuit or two. Even if her father is no real disciplinarian and leaves that to her mother and even if he cannot bear to see her cry (either one of his girls for that matter; he still calls Elsie "his girl"), he will not brook disrespect. But he knows that today is shortbread biscuit day and he has heard Elsie deny Grace another biscuit. He feels sorry for the girl because he, too, had been denied. Elsie's shortbread biscuits are _very_ good and what would it hurt for the lass (and him) to have just one more biscuit before bed? Charles knows that Elsie did not see him pinch, no, not pinch, _acquire_, the two cookies. Part of his stage training (he hates to think of it) has allowed him to practice a little sleight of hand. She's never caught out him the other times he's done this so their secret is safe.

Charles opens his other hand to reveal two shortbread biscuits. He feels Grace's posture loosen and a giggle escapes her lips. "Oh, thank you Daddy," she coos as she takes one of the biscuits out of his hand and hungrily lifts it to her mouth.

"Now mind the crumbs Grace, mustn't give us away," Charles admonishes gently as he bites into his own biscuit. Father and daughter hum in contentment. As they enjoy their contraband biscuits, they are completely unaware of the presence in the doorway of the sitting room. She always stands there. She always catches them. But they never see her. And she lets them have their secret.

With her arms folded and leaning against the door frame, Elsie Carson is smiling. "Incorrigible," she says softly with a gentle laugh as she makes to return to the kitchen.

TBC….. Chapter 2 will have a slightly different perspective.


	2. Grace

1923

"But Elsie," At sixty-nine years old, Charles Edward Carson is a more relaxed man. A head full of silver locks, an errant curl that occasionally springs forward, gentle hazel eyes and a softer tone now that he has retired from being butler at the Abbey, Charles knows when he should not ask again but he cannot help herself. He has always had overpowering sweet tooth. And today the cottage smells of warm butter, flour, and sugar. He watches Elsie, as he has hundreds of times before, slowly, agonizingly, take the delicious shortbread biscuits from a plate, and place them into a tin that will rest upon the kitchen counter. It is the same tin that she has always put the biscuits in but it no longer has to be placed away from hungry little hands; Charles knows better. Or at least he should. His eyes follow her every movement. A pitiful expression passes across the butler's face. It isn't right. He just wants one more biscuit. One more. "Elsie, what will one more hurt," he reasons.

Elsie dusts her hands across her apron then clasps them in front of her. It is the posture she assumed with insubordinate housemaids when she was housekeeper at the Abbey, with Grace as she was growing up, and with impertinent butlers. "Charles Carson, Dr. MacKenzie has told you to mind your sweet tooth and I mean to see that you do. Why don't you settle by the fire and rest for a bit." Charles does as he is told but not before theatrically giving an overly dramatic shrug of his great and broad shoulders and an expressive pout. Elsie shakes her head and smiles. _A flair for the dramatic_, she thinks to herself. _Just like his daughter._

"Mmmm," Grace hums as she reaches into the tin for a biscuit before getting a gentle slap across the hand from her mother.

"And no more for you either," she admonishes her. At twenty-one, Grace Carson has matured into a lovely young woman. A schoolteacher at the village school. Her mother's quick wit and her father's exacting standards make her good at what she does. The compassion that she shows to her students mark her out as a favorite. Elsie gives her daughter a hug, asks about her plans for the community dance, the young man that she is going with. They chat easily. Mother and daughter, friends. Elsie turns to retrieve the lid for the tin while Grace natters on about, Harry, the local boy she is walking out with. Elsie takes an extra, deliberate moment _looking_ for the tin's cover. Grace's tone never wavers as she quickly reaches into the tin and takes two biscuits. She easily hides them in her hand; she has done this before and each time she thinks that her mum doesn't notice. Elsie, well aware of what she's done, says nothing and sends her on his way to join her father in the sitting room. He is always interested in hearing about his daughter's day.

Charles has settled into his well-worn leather chair and Grace settles herself onto the arm of it. He wraps an arm around her, his big hand, soft and gently patting her leg reassuringly. This is their pattern. Father and daughter. "What's this?" Grace asks as she places a sweet kiss to his forehead.

"Nothing, Grace," he lies. But Grace knows that today is shortbread biscuit day and she has heard Elsie deny Charles another biscuit. She feels sorry for him because she, too, had been denied. Her mum's shortbread biscuits are _very_ good and what would it hurt for her dad (and her) to have just one more biscuit before bed? Grace knows that her mum did not see her pinch, no, not pinch, _acquire_, the two cookies. She had learned some of her father's magic tricks when she was little. To amuse her, she and Elsie became his audience. Grace remembers all of the tricks, the techniques, and that has allowed her to practice a little sleight of hand. Her mother has never caught her out the other times she has done this so their secret is safe.

Grace opens her hand to reveal two shortbread biscuits. She sees a smile tug at her dad's lips. The lopsided smile that causes she and her mother to melt. "She didn't see you?" he asks as he takes one of the biscuits from and hungrily lifts it to his mouth.

"Now mind the crumbs Dad, mustn't give us away," Grace admonishes gently as she bites into her own biscuit. Father and daughter hum in contentment. As they enjoy their contraband biscuits, they are completely unaware of the presence in the doorway of the sitting room. She always stands there. She always catches them. But they never see her. And she lets them have their secret.

With her arms folded and leaning against the doorframe, Elsie Carson is smiling. "Incorrigible," she says softly with a gentle laugh as she makes to return to the kitchen.

Thank you for all the reviews (I will get around to responding to all of them, I promise), follows, tumblr reblogs, etc. I appreciate each and every one.


	3. Bess and Margaret

The house smells of pine and crackling fire. Mulling spices and gingerbread. Fresh fruit, potatoes, and herbs. Grace busies herself in her kitchen preparing for Christmas dinner. She has cleaned and dressed the turkey that Harry hunted and proudly presented to his family; it is baking in the oven. Harry puffs away on his pipe and reads the sport page of his paper while their twin girls, Bess and Margaret flitter about in anticipation of Father Christmas coming tomorrow.

A familiar rap at the door elicits squeals of delight from the girls as they rush, in bare feet, to the door. Flinging it open, simultaneous cries of "Grandpa" and "Granny," ring out as they cling to the two figures who come bearing gifts for them. Charles and Elsie bend to embrace them as the girls drag them into the house. The girls hardly allow them to shed their coats before they are leading them by their hands into the sitting room, showing them the decorations on the tree and an assortment of presents scattered about.

Grace and Harry allow Bess and Margaret to open one gift and they always choose the gift that their grandparents bring. They know that their _real_ gifts from Granny and Grandpa (a tea set and a doll) are to be given tomorrow. Bess rips open the paper, shredding it into thick and thin ribbons, scattering it across the floor. Her Granny smiles. _Full of spirit, that lass._ Her sister, Margaret, is more circumspect. She carefully removes the corners of the pretty paper and gently sets the whole sheet to the side. She looks to her Grandpa. He nods in approval. _Caution is a virtue._ The sisters hold up their prizes. Pretty new red and green plaid nightgowns and shiny red hair ribbons for each. A Christmas Eve tradition.

They scamper away for a quick change while the adults enjoy a glass of spirits and gentle conversation. Charles and Harry talk of sport, of the next year's cricket; whether the village team will be up to snuff. They talk of how Harry enjoys his new position as postmaster. Charles and Elsie are thankful he has a government position in such trying times. Elsie and Grace speak of the girls. Of how quickly they are growing. At seven, they are sprouting up like weeds their grandmother remarks proudly. Elsie is proud of the woman her girl has become; a fine mother and wife. She pulls her into an embrace and kisses her cheek.

The girls, dressed in their new nightgowns, with their hair plaited and tied with new ribbons, settle snugly with their grandparents. Bess on her grandmother's lap, her head rests on Elsie's shoulder. Margaret on Charles's knee helping to hold the book from which he is reading. Grace sits on the arm of Harry's chair, her arm draped around his shoulder.

"Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house, not a creature was stirring," Charles begins; his deep voice entrances _all _of his girls. The book he and Margaret hold is old; a few of the pages have errant pencil marks and drawings on them. _Property of Grace Elspeth Carson_ scrawled on the flyleaf. As he reads the story with dramatic flair, the twins begin to rub their eyes and a yawn or two pass from their lips.

"And to all a good night," he finishes and closes the book.

"How about I fetch the biscuits and a wee drop of brandy for Father Christmas," Elsie asks the girls. They are sleepy but are thrilled with the prospect. They ask her to bring a biscuit each for them. Their mother reminds them that they have had enough biscuits for today. Charles and Elsie look at one another; a knowing glance passes between them. _Poor babes. What will one more biscuit hurt? Just one._ Grace offers to assist her mother with gathering the items for the jolly old elf and the reindeer. She does every year. And just like last year, and the year before, Elsie refuses. Tells her to stay put. That she has been on her feet all day. Cooking, preparing for tomorrow's meal. "Come along Charles," she calls. They retreat to the kitchen and a few moments later return with a plate of biscuits, two carrots (for the reindeer, because they get hungry too) and a wee bit of brandy (for Father Christmas; it is rather cold out).

"Can Granny and Grandpa tuck us in," Margaret asks her parents.

"Like last year," Bess adds. Harry smiles and tells his girls to first come and give their mother and him a kiss and then he sends them on their way.

Bess and Margaret climb into bed and under the covers. Elsie and Charles tuck them in and each take their place, one on each side of the bed. Elsie smooths a hand over Bess' hair and then over Margaret's. "Have you been good lasses this year? Obeyed your mum and dad? Done what they asked? Been kind to others?" she asks. They shake their little heads in the affirmative and Elsie looks over to Charles. "Well, Grandpa, I think that good lasses like ours deserve a special treat before they go to sleep. If they promise to go right to sleep after we leave so that Father Christmas may come and leave their presents. Do you agree?"

Charles pretends to _consider_ what Elsie as said. "I do agree, Granny. But Father Christmas will not visit if you do not go to sleep," he says very seriously to his granddaughters. "Do you agree?" He says this every year and the girls nod again in unison and try very hard to suppress a giggle.

"Well, then, let's see what we might have for you," Elsie says conspiratorially as she prompts Charles. He reaches into his coat pocket to retrieve a handkerchief. He slowly unwraps it to reveal two small sugar biscuits. The girls squeal with delight and Elsie hands each one of them a sugary, delicious treat.

"Now mind the crumbs," Elsie says as a smile tugs at her lips. She reaches across the bed for Charles hand.

"…mustn't give us away," Charles finishes with a tug on his wife's hand. The sisters hum in contentment. As they enjoy their contraband biscuits, they are completely unaware of the presence in the doorway of their bedroom. She always stands there, every year. She always catches them. But they never see her. And she lets them have their secret.

With her arms folded and leaning against the doorframe, Grace Anderson is smiling. "Happy Christmas," she says softly with a gentle laugh.

We've reached the end of our little story. Thanks for all of the reviews, follows, favorites, tumblr reblogs, etc. I appreciate them more than you could ever know. If you are inclined let me know what you think of this last bit.


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